


Finding Ella

by missdarcy



Category: Cinderella (2015), Cinderella (Fairy Tale), Cinderella - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, Rescue, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-16
Updated: 2020-02-23
Packaged: 2021-02-27 22:20:23
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,427
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22753126
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/missdarcy/pseuds/missdarcy
Summary: The Captain of the Royal Guard realises that the Grand Duke's intentions may not be all that is good.Or, how Kit came to be there the day the search party visited the Tremaines.
Relationships: Prince Charming/Cinderella (Disney)
Comments: 14
Kudos: 125





	1. Chapter 1

Rowan Villeneuve, _Capitaine_ of the Royal Guard, had known from the second Kit spent the whole ride home from the hunt gushing about the mysterious girl he’d met in the woods that the next few weeks would prove interesting. He’d known from the second the girl had vanished from the ball leaving only a glass slipper in her wake that she would not rest until the girl was found. And he’d known, as both Captain and Kit’s friend, that he would put all his own efforts into aiding with the search.

The search for the Mystery Princess had not been an easy one. The Royal Guard had spent over a week now trudging from village to village, dealing with every spinster, maiden and matchmaking mama in the Kingdom, and weariness had long since set into Rowan’s bones. The search had not borne fruit, and he was getting worried. Worried for the girl; for Kit; worried too about the Grand Duke’s increasing air of satisfaction.

Tired he may have been, but his mind was sharp and as he rode on he pondered what he knew.

Rowan had only seen the girl from a distance, that time in the woods; she had been a small slip of a girl – too thin, and in a dress covered in cinders – but though she appeared a servant, her comportment betrayed her as a girl of genteel upbringing. Rowan had been hard pressed to hide his amusement as Kit related the story of having been mistaken for a mere apprentice. For the Prince, their short conversation had been more than enough to reveal to Kit a beautiful and intelligent young woman with courage and kindness at her core.

But this raised questions.

Why, he thought, if she had been raised by a noble family, was she now a servant in her own home?

How, if she was indeed a servant, had she been able to attend the ball in such finery?

And why, when she had seemed to take the reality of her “Mr. Kit” being His Royal Highness The Prince in her stride, had she fled the ball so suddenly, merely because the clock struck twelve?

Then there was the question of the glass slipper itself and the circumstances of its discovery. The Grand Duke had claimed it was found shattered by the side of the road, and then used it with remarkable efficiency to obtain Kit’s promise to marry the Princess Chelina of Zaragoza if the girl could not be found. At the ball, the Duke had told him that he had already promised the Prince in marriage to the Princess Chelina, and it was clear to Rowan now that the Duke was doing everything to ensure that he could keep a promise that he should never have made. Discovery of the Mystery Princess would make all his machinations for naught.

The Duke’s wording to the new King had been subtle. The Grand Duke would spare “no effort” to prove to Kit that the girl could _not_ be found – it wasn’t the same as promising to spare no effort to find her, and of course so far, she had not been found. It was all a little too convenient. Rowan had not reached the exalted position of Captain by being stupid and blind, although the Grand Duke seemed to believe otherwise.

Rowan realised that he should have been open with Kit about these thoughts long before now, but that could not be helped. Time was running out but his mind was made up: he would not allow Kit to be manipulated into marrying other than for love if he could help it. This girl was clearly the love of Kit’s life. Ergo, as Kit’s friend, he would do what he could to ensure that the two were reunited. And further, as Captain of the Royal Guard and a gentleman, he felt duty bound to ensure the girl’s safety – and he had a sinking feeling that her present circumstances were not at all safe.

Having decided he had to do something, it was clear that with the Grand Duke getting in the way, there was only one person in the Kingdom who could help him do it.

That night, under cover of darkness, Rowan got up with stiff, creaking bones and, willing his mind to ignore how saddle-sore he already was, he remounted his horse and slipped out of the camp. As soon as he was sure that the sound of his horse’s hooves would not be overheard, he galloped hell for leather back towards the castle.

Not wanting anyone but Kit to know of his unexpected visit, he took the long way around in reaching the Royal Apartments, using servant passages and unused corridors he and Kit had discovered as boys to reach them unnoticed. 

“Kit!” he hissed, knocking on the door in a special pattern they’d established as children.

* * *

The Royal Guard had been out hunting for the Mysterious Princess for two weeks now, and with every new day that passed without news, Kit’s mood had grown more sullen. He knew he was being too curt with his advisors and the serving staff, but he could not help it. Why had the girl not been found? Did she not want to be? Or was she being prevented from presenting herself at the palace?

He sat moodily by the fire, swilling whiskey around in a glass but drinking little of it. Staring into space, he replayed every moment of his two meetings with the girl in his head. She had been so very lovely. If he really thought about it, he thought he could imagine the softness of her touch, and the delicate scent of lavender that she seemed to leave behind wherever she went.

“Kit!” he thought he heard his name, confirmed by a knock to the door – Rowan’s knock. He put the whiskey glass down on a small table next to his chair with just a little too much force, and the amber liquid splashed a little over the lip of the glass onto the mahogany, but he didn’t notice. He sprang to the feet and wrenched the door open with a haste and eagerness befitting a puppy rather than an anointed King.

“Rowan!” he exclaimed delightedly as he did so, “is she – have you?” he started to ask, but quickly fell silent at the look on his friend’s face. “No, of course not. Come in, my dear friend, and settle yourself by the fire. What news?”

Rowan took not even a second to appreciate that this was the first time in a week he’d sat down in any comfort. “No, we’ve not found her yet, Kit, I’m sorry” he said in hushed tones. “Is there anyone else around?”

Kit shook his head and lowered his voice to match Rowan’s. “I sent my valet to bed and the night maid finished her duties not long before you got here. Not just anything would bring you here at this time of night, Rowan – what can I do to help?”

For all his princely manners, Kit was a true and loyal friend. Rowan allowed himself a brief smile at the trust Kit was automatically bestowing in him, and scrubbed a tired hand over his face, feeling the stubble growing there and wondering how to phrase his concerns.

“We’ve not found her yet, Kit,” he said again, “and I’m, uh – _concerned_ that the _reason_ we’ve not found her yet is that the Grand Duke doesn’t want us to.”

Kit’s eye narrowed as he sat back in his chair and steepled his fingers under his chin. There was a pregnant pause.

“Zaragoza?” he asked, not needing a push to make the logical leap.

Rowan inclined his head. What he had to say next would be a bitter pill for Kit to swallow. “When we were at the ball, the Duke told me outright that he had promised you in marriage to the Princess Chelina.”

Kit paled in anger. “Why is this the first that the _groom_ is hearing about this, Captain?” he asked in frigid tones.

Rowan flushed and changed his form of address. “I should have been open with you before now, Your Majesty, and for that I apologise.” He didn’t really know why he’d never spoken of this to Kit. Offering false excuses would help him not at all.

Kit observed him for a moment. “Is there anything else that I should have been informed of?”

Rowan spoke for a long time of his observations of the Duke’s behaviour at the ball; of the lady who had overheard their conversation; of how convenient it was that the slipper had been discovered and taken to no less a person than the Duke himself; and of the nuances of the Duke’s promise to Kit that he would prove the girl could not be found. At the last revelation, Kit stood abruptly, tension evident in every line of his body, angry that he had missed this hidden manipulation.

Rowan finished, hoarsely, just as the clock struck one. Kit poured him a glass of whiskey and reclined back into his chair silently. Rowan took a sip of his drink and watched the man in front of him. Kit’s face was flickering almost imperceptibly as he took in everything that he had been told. Kit had a very circular way of thinking that made him quite gifted at coming up with solutions to complicated puzzles, so Rowan was curious to see what plan he would come up with now.

They sat there for a long time, and Rowan had almost dropped into a drowse when Kit finally broke the silence.

“You can’t confront him, it would be too easy for him to override you.” he said slowly, clearly on the precipice of an idea but needing to puzzle it out aloud.

Rowan agreed.

“And we don’t actually have any kind of hard evidence,” Kit continued .

Rowan nodded again.

Kit smiled. “The _King_ can’t go either. If the King is there, he’ll change tack altogether.”

Rowan agreed to this too, and Kit looked at him expectantly, rolling his eyes when Rowan clearly didn’t follow his reasoning quickly enough. “Do I usually refer to myself in third person? I said the _King_ can’t go. So I don’t propose to go with you as the King. We’ll get a spare Guards uniform, and I’ll ride back with you to the camp tonight. Then, in the morning I’ll ride out with you as normal on the search and observe the Grand Duke myself.”

Rowan felt his role as friend subside for a moment, and Captain of the Royal Guard ride to the fore in its stead.

“Your Majesty, no! You can’t just ride out unprotected, it – ”

“Come now, Rowan!” interrupted Kit, with an edge to his voice that reminded Rowan where he was. “I won’t be unprotected, will I? I’ll literally be surrounded by a detachment of the Royal Guard!” He clearly had the bit between his teeth and a look on his face that made it clear to Rowan that he would not be dissuaded from any plan of action that he thought might help him find the Mystery Princess.

Rowan’s mouth twisted. “I don’t like it,” he said, but he offered no further objection.

Kit saw his victory, and flashed a satisfied grin. “You don’t have to like it. But your complaint is duly noted.”

Rowan contemplated the idea again. He supposed it did make sense – the Grand Duke would not stand down from his plans unless confronted by anyone other than the King himself and to do that, Kit would have to see for himself the kind of obstructive behaviour the Duke had been deploying at each stage of the search so far. His own men would notice the sudden addition, though, and he’d have to brief a few of his most trusted to ensure the secret was kept. And of course, there was still the question of what they’d need to do if they actually _found_ the girl.

The thought must have flashed across his face. Kit caught it before he could bite it back.

“You’re wondering what we will do when we find her.”

Rowan shrugged, aware that Kit had been so tense in the last few weeks that no one had yet had the courage to suggest to him that the young lady in question might not want to be found.

Kit sighed, suddenly looking much older than his age and very, very tired. “I talked to my father about her, you know. The night he died.” He swallowed, mouth twisting in a private moment of grief, and Rowan looked away, heartsick for his friend. “I hadn’t realised, but she met him at the ball.” Rowan looked his surprise, and Kit found a shadow of a smile. “She charmed him as quickly as she did me.”

“Instantly?”

Kit laughed, and reached out to swat his friend on the shoulder. “He told me to follow my heart and find the forgetful one who loses her shoes.”

Rowan suddenly understood. Kit was noble – if the lady did not want Kit, or the trappings of royalty, he would withdraw. But he was a passionate soul, and he had to at least _try._ He stood up abruptly, ignoring how the warm fire and good whiskey had done nothing to mitigate the protests of his joints.

“Come on, then. We have to find you a uniform.”

Kit’s eyes gleamed.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two chapters added today! I think there will be maybe six altogether, but we'll see!

Kit and Rowan snuck out of the King’s Apartments feeling oddly as if they were children again, trying to avoid attending their lessons. But they only got as far as the hallway before realising there were a few more problems they’d not discussed yet. Kit was the King, after all, and he couldn’t just slink off without a word to anyone, or the whole Kingdom would be in chaos and the Grand Duke would immediately hear of it. And it wasn’t as if Rowan could just stroll into the Guard House and collect a spare uniform, either. He was supposed to be miles away searching for the Mystery Princess.

After a brief, whispered debate, Kit decided that his valet would have to be enlisted as an extra pair of hands. They retreated back to his apartments a little sheepishly. Rowan hid himself behind a velvet curtain and Kit rang for a maid and asked her to fetch his valet, Mathieu, who appeared in due course, blinking sleepily. Kit apologised profusely for waking him and quickly brought him into the plot.

“Majesté!” he exclaimed, once he was in full possession of the facts. “How can I help you?”

Mathieu knew exactly why Kit had chosen him for this. His position as the King’s valet made him one of the only servants in the castle whose loyalty, technically speaking, was directly to Kit rather than the Crown. In some ways, he rather thought Kit had underestimated things. Kit didn’t realise it, but much like the girl he had fallen in love with, he had courage and kindness in spades. This kindness made him one of the most benevolent masters in the Kingdom – never mind that he was King – and there were far more in the castle with personal loyalty to Kit than he appreciated

Still… it didn’t do to underestimate the Grand Duke, either. The Duke would never have left the castle on the princess hunting expedition without leaving a few trusted spies to report to him if Kit came too close to realising what was going on. He’d have to tread carefully.

Kit quickly laid out what was required. Right now, he needed a disguise. Come daybreak, he’d need Mathieu to act as his alibi, to put out that the King was ill, or out riding, or – well, anything to explain his absence without alarming anyone.

Mathieu mentally compiled a to do list. “Sire, if I am to hide your absence from the Castle tomorrow, I think we will need to enlist at least one of the Guards who remains at the Castle. ”

Rowan frowned. “I think it is better that as few people as possible are in the know about this plan, Mathieu,” he said – but Kit was shaking his head.

“No, Mathieu is right. The best thing to do will be to put it around that I left the castle to distract myself from the search for the Mystery Princess. I can’t go out riding alone, so I think Mathieu right. Rowan, you are Captain of the Guard. Who remains behind from the search and can be trusted to assist?”

Rowan considered this. “There’s a Lieutenant – his name is Luc Jago. He has a billet to himself in the Guard House Annex, so hopefully it should be easy for you to get in there and fetch him unnoticed.” He explained to Mathieu the layout of the annex while he hastily scrawled some orders for Luc.

Eventually, orders in hand, Mathieu set about his tasks. As the King’s valet, he had more freedom to roam around the castle than a lot of the servants did, but even so he made sure to take advantage of the servant’s passages to go about his business undetected.

Even at this late hour, he thought it would be hard to get into the Guard House without attracting attention, so he diverted first to the Royal Laundry, housed in a vast complex tucked away in outside the main building of the castle, next to the river, where the servants would wash and mend the vast amounts of dirty linen that the inhabitants of the castle would go through every day. There were always huge mounds of clothing waiting to be washed, or darned, and equally vast piles of neatly folded clothing, ready to be returned to their owners.

Now, the laundry was empty. Mathieu padded silently through the building, keeping to the shadows, scanning every pile of clean laundry for an item he could borrow for the King. With the majority of the King’s guard out searching for the Mystery Princess, the laundry piles seemed much smaller than usual, and he started to despair of ever finding what he needed, until at last he spotted one of the distinctive blue cloaks of the Royal Guard. He grabbed it quickly and with a silent apology to the cloak’s owner, throwing it on over himself in the hope that it would get the sleeping Lieutenant who was his next quarry to pause long enough for him to pass on his orders without attacking him where he stood.

Approaching the Guard House apprehensively, he craned his neck trying to spot the entrance that Rowan had outlined to him, and missed his footing, tripping over an old bucket that had been left in the courtyard and kicking up loose gravel everywhere. He cursed under his breath and froze where he was.

The Lieutenant who’d been stood to attention at the door. “Who goes there?” he called out, eyes searching the darkness.

Mathieu held his breath, hoping the Lieutenant would not come and investigate. If Kit and the Captain were to make it back to the camp before daylight, there was not enough time for him to explain.

The silence stretched, seeming to last a lifetime. Eventually, the Lieutenant seemed to decide that the noise had been nothing, and he set off on a patrol around the building. Mathieu waited a moment longer until he was sure that the guard was out of earshot, before pulling himself to his feet and creeping into the building in front of him, trying to make no further noise.

He managed to find the Lieutenant’s billet with no further issues and wasted no more time. He crept into the room and approached the bed.

“Wake up!” he hissed, shaking the sleeping occupant of the bed awake, hoping hope against hope that he’d found the right room. “Wake up! Are you Lt. Luc Jago?”

“Wassitou?” grunted the man groggily, before full consciousness seemed to slam into him harder than a freight train. He shot up quicker than Mathieu would have thought possible, unsheathing the sword that had been hung on his bed post in one, swift gesture, and holding it out threateningly at Mathieu. “Name yourself!” he hissed menacingly.

Mathieu swallowed. “I am the King’s valet. I bring urgent orders for you,” he said, proud that his voice held firm, and holding out the parchment Rowan had given him. “Please, will you come with me?”

The soldier ignored the parchment and eyed him suspiciously.

“What in hell’s name does the ‘ _King’s valet_ ’ think he’s doing, dressed as though he were a guardsman, and coming in here at two in the bloody morning?” he asked, voice rising a few decibels. A floorboard above them seemed to creak.

“Shhh!” hissed Matthieu. “Please, if I were up to no good I’d hardly have chosen to wake you up, would I? Are you Lieutenant Luc Jago? I have urgent orders for you from Captain Villeneuve.”

The soldier lowered his sword a fraction. “I am Lieutenant Jago. The Captain isn’t here though, is he? He’s been gone for weeks, looking for the Mystery Princess.”

“For God’s sake!” exclaimed Mathieu, “Won’t you just listen?! I watched Captain Villeneuve write them myself. I just left him and the King not thirty minutes ago!” he thrust out the parchment Rowan had given him again desperately.

Luc took the parchment with another long suspicious look and glanced at it, seeming instantly to glean the contents. Immediately he got up and started to pull on his uniform, apologising for his reaction to Mathieu’s sudden awakening.

“It is no matter,” said Mathieu, relieved that the soldier finally seemed to grasp the urgency. “Do you have a spare uniform hat?” he asked. “The King will need it.”

To his relief, Luc grabbed a spare hat without demanding further answers. “This way,” he said. “It will be quicker for us to get back to the King and the Captain if we go out through the basement,” he said, leading Mathieu through a maze of corridors that, to his surprise, spat them out very quickly, just one floor below the King’s apartments.

“Amazing,” he breathed, earning a look of amusement from his new companion.

“Necessary,” corrected Luc. “We need to be able to get to the King at speed if there is an emergency.”

They hurried on further along the corridors, Mathieu keenly aware that time was growing short. Eventually they approached the King’s door. He knocked cursorily and let himself in, reasoning that this was no time to be a stickler for the rules.

“I have found a cloak, Your Majesty, in the Royal Laundry” he said, handing over the item in question.

“What about the hat?” asked Rowan, furrowing his brow. “The cloak is not enough alone; Your Majesty’s face is too recognisable.”

Luc had entered the room behind him and held out the spare hat he had brought with him. “Here, Sir,” he said, snapping a salute.

“Thank you, Lieutenant,” said Kit, already trying the hat on for size and adjusting the chin strap.

Rowan quickly expanded on the brief orders he’d scribbled down for Luc earlier. “The camp is currently situated near the border with Corona,” he explained to Luc, who was stood to attention. “You will need to go out riding early in the morning in as much the opposite direction as possible. I suggest riding towards the ports near the borders with Arendelle. Tell no one that you are going. We cannot risk a scout being sent ahead to warn the Grand Duke that we are coming.”

“Yes, Sir,” said Luc. “Will you need me to ride the King’s steed?”

“Copenhagen?” interrupted Kit, surprised. “Certainly not, I will be riding him.”

“You can’t ride Copenhagen!” exclaimed Rowan.

“Why not?” said Kit, looking affronted at this slight to his beloved horse.

“Copenhagen is instantly recognisable as your horse, Your Majesty,” said Luc. “If you ride him to the Guard’s Camp, you will instantly blow your cover. And you cannot leave him here either, if Mathieu is to convince everyone that you have gone out riding. You will have to ride my own horse, Ragtime.”

Kit harrumphed, recognising the logic in this even if he did not like it. “Make sure you take him some apples, or you may not find him very obliging.”

Luc smiled. “Yes, Your Majesty.”

Rowan turned around to inspect Kit’s attire. “Good,” he said, having done a full examination. “So long as we keep you out of the direct sight of the Grand Duke, I do not think he will realise that we have suddenly gained one extra Guard.”

Behind them the clock tolled again, startling them all back into urgency. “We only have an hour left until daybreak,” said Rowan, “so we’ll need to ride hard in order to make it back to the camp before the camp bugler calls reveille. The Grand Duke is often late to rise, but I don’t want to risk it and I don’t want anyone to blow your cover prematurely without realising it.”

“Excellent,” said Kit, looking at Mathieu and Luc. “Do you both know what is required of you?”

“Yes, Sire,” they intoned.

The plan was on.


	3. Chapter 3

Once the King and the Captain had left, Luc had retreated quickly to the Kitchens. There was no point in going back to sleep - he would have to leave very soon himself. He could risk no one could watching him depart on the King’s horse, without the King.

Instead, he quickly gathered together a bag of food for himself and apples for Copenhagen, the King’s famously bad tempered horse, before hot-footing it to the stables.

He approached Copenhagen’s box with apple already in hand. Copenhagen blew out his nose testily, as if in disdain for this stranger, but he took the proffered apples anyway and, thus bribed, allowed Luc to saddle him.

Within an hour of the King’s departure, Luc was headed out in the opposite direction, with no one any the wiser.

He hoped all this subterfuge would be worth it.

* * *

Kit and Rowan rode for a long time, only the horses breaking the silence.

“Do you think the Duke suspects that you are on to him?” asked Kit after a while of riding.

“I think so, yes,” Rowan said, “but I do not think he thinks that I would have done anything about it.”

Kit chuckled. “How little he knows you, then.”

“Indeed.”

A short while later, Rowan suddenly pulled up his horse. “The camp is perhaps a five minute walk from here, up this path,” he whispered. “Much further than this, and we’ll be well into earshot. We should lead the horses in from here.”

Kit nodded, and slid of his mount. “What time does the camp usually depart to start the day’s search?”

Rowan rolled his eyes. “Mid-morning, at the earliest. I shall try and spark an earlier start, but first priority is to get you hidden amongst the rest of the men.”

They addressed this as soon as they were in camp, and the horses tied up. Rowan beckoned Kit to follow him, and they walked as quietly as they could around the back of the tents. The sun had barely cracked over the horizon, and there was no noise in the camp save for the dawn chorus and the dying embers of the previous night’s fire, but they still took care to be cautious.

Approaching a tent on the outskirts of the camp, Rowan knelt next to the opening and scratched lightly on the canvas, hoping its occupants were starting to stir.

“Lieutenants? Are you awake?” he whispered.

There was a rustling inside the tent, before a pale, moustachioed face peered out.

“Captain?”

“Shh,” hissed Rowan. “Are you both decent?”

The face disappeared back inside the tent and they heard a short-murmured conversation. The tent shook a bit as one of the occupants clearly wriggled around trying to pull on some trousers. Kit felt a wave of amusement wash over him and, at Rowan’s dark look, bit his lip to suppress it.

The moustachioed face peered out of the tent again.

“We’re decent, Captain.”

“Good. Make way,” said Rowan, holding the canvas open and beckoning Kit to stoop inside.

The two Lieutenants watched in astonishment His Majesty The King climb inside their tent and seat himself cross legged on the floor, and looked at each other, bewildered.

“Sire, these are Lieutenants Louis Carew and Henri Bligh,” said Rowan.

“A pleasure, Gentlemen,” said Kit.

“What is His Majesty doing inside our tent?” asked the moustachioed man, who had been identified as Henri.

Kit raised an eyebrow, and the two of them sat up as straight as they could and snap a salute at him. In the tiny space of the tent, Henri’s elbow smashed into the side of Louis’ face as they did so. Kit huffed a laugh.

“Special orders, Lieutenants,” said Rowan. “The King has come on a surprise inspection of the Duke’s search for the Mystery Princess.”

Kit watched Louis and Henri exchange a look and noted the absolute lack of surprise on either of their faces.

“Is there anything you think I should know, gentlemen?” he asked.

“Nothing concrete, Sire,” said Louis. “The Duke’s search methods are, if you don’t mind my saying so, a little to be desired.”

“I think we’ll all be glad that you’re here, Your Majesty,” added Henri.

Kit shook his head. “No one is to know that I am here. That is where you two come in.”

“The Grand Duke, especially, is not to know that His Majesty is here at the camp. You are to ensure that the King is protected at all times while he is with us, and that he remains undiscovered. I want him to have a good view of all searches that are conducted today. Is that understood?”

“Yes, Sir!” they chorused, in a whisper, snapping another salute, Louis narrowly avoiding another elbow to the face.

“Will you be alright, Kit?” asked Rowan, preparing to go back to his own tent. By his watch, they had only five minutes until Reveille. They’d made it just in time.

“I’ll be fine,” whispered Kit. “Go!”

* * *

Some hours later, well after mid-morning, the search party was finally fed, watered, and astride their horses. Some quick manoeuvring on the part of Louis and Henri had managed to ensure that the King’s horse was sandwiched between them, near the front of the line, with no one else having noticed the addition to their number.

Louis and Henri had spent a good deal of time talking to the King and understood better than ever why the search had been so important to him. They had relayed to Kit their own perspective of how the search had been going, a story very similar to that Rowan had told him the night before. The conversation had left all three of them feeling very downhearted, not helped by the fact that they’d all been waiting on their horses for a good half an hour before the Grand Duke finally showed up.

“Come now, Gentleman!” he proclaimed, grandly, “let us start another day and leave no stone unturned!”

Behind Kit, Louis snorted.

Eventually, having already wasted, to Kit’s mind, half the day, the search party moved off, quickly reaching a small village where excitement was at fever pitch. Kit watched the search in dismay as the Grand Duke cheerily took it upon himself to be as obstructive as possible, interfering with the process and loudly proclaiming to anyone who could hear that the search was fruitless anyway as there was no way the Mystery Princess was still in the Kingdom.

It was no wonder the Mystery Princess hadn’t been found, if this was the way the search had been conducted. Kit wished Rowan had had the courage to come and find him earlier.

* * *

Meanwhile, back at the palace, Mathieu settled in to wait in the King’s dressing room, reasoning that it was one of the first places anyone would come looking for him. The sun rose and when the breakfast hour passed without Kit ringing for a tray, Mathieu knew it couldn’t be long before someone would come looking.

He busied himself with folding some of the King’s shirts that he just been returned from the laundry, needing a reason to stay where he was.

“Where is the King?”

Mathieu jumped, startled, not having realised that anyone had entered the room. He turned around to see the Foreign Minister, Lord Montescue standing in the doorway and looking arrogantly down his nose at him. The realisation sunk into place and Mathieu wondered how none of them had seen it before, that the Grand Duke’s eyes and ears in the palace would be the minister who had the most personal interest in concluding a marriage alliance with the Royal Family of Zaragoza.

Lord Montescue made a noise of irritation. “I said, where is the King? I have matters of state to discuss with him.”

Mathieu realised he’d been silent too long and hoped the Minister wouldn’t read too much into it.

“He has gone riding, my Lord,” Mathieu said as smoothly as he could, continuing to fold the shirts in front of him, trying to look unconcerned. “He went early this morning to inspect the port near our borders with Arendelle. I believe he is finding the wait for news of the search for the Mystery Princess rather taxing.” he finished, watching his visitor carefully out of the corner of his eye.

Lord Montescue relaxed, just a little bit. Mathieu realised that if had not been watching so closely, he wouldn’t have noticed the movement at all.

“Did he say what time he would return?”

“No, My Lord. I shall certainly tell him that you were here looking for him when he returns.”

Lord Montescue thanked Mathieu and left as silently as he had come. Mathieu hoped that the King’s mission would be accomplished quickly. He was not sure how long an ‘inspection of the Ports’ would stay believable.

* * *

Kit was seething as they approached the last unsearched house in the Kingdom. The Grand Duke, whether he liked it or not, was an Officer of the Crown, and had clearly gone to great lengths to defy Kit’s request that they search for the Mystery Princess.

Now, here they were. One house in the whole Kingdom unsearched. But who knew how many stones had been left unturned?

The house in front of them wasn’t far from the glade where he’d first met the Mystery Princess. As they approached, the front door opened revealing a red-haired woman.

“Gentlemen!” she said with a flourish. “What a _wonderful_ surprise!” Rowan rolled his eyes at the inanity of this statement, and then suddenly recognised that this was the lady who had overheard his conversation with the Duke at the ball, and his heart started to pound in his chest. He glanced behind him and eyed Kit, meaningfully.

Kit saw the look and considered the woman more closely. She was elaborately garbed in a green silk gown, too much for a simple day at home. He vaguely remembered her being presented at the ball as the Lady Tremaine, and his mind suddenly brought up the image of two ugly daughters who’d been dressed in extremely garish ball gowns. This was not unusual in and of itself – there’d been plenty of matchmaking mamas at the ball who’d been desperate to catch the Prince’s attention. 

Then it hit him. This must be the woman who Rowan had said had overheard them at the ball. This was the woman who knew what the Duke had been up to. Was she above using this information for the benefit of her daughters? Louis had been muttering something to the soldier sat next to him, and he impatiently gestured to him to quieten down, ears straining to hear what was being said.

“A moment of your time, good lady?” the Duke was saying.

“Of course, Your Grace,” said she, sinking to the floor in an ridiculously low curtsey. “Please, this way.”

Rowan and the Duke disappeared inside and out of Kit’s hearing. He sighed in frustration.

“Do not worry, Your Majesty,” muttered Henri. “The Captain will be listening to everything keenly.”

“Thank you, Henri,” Kit replied, appreciating the words of comfort.

From the windows of the house, all they could hear were the grunts and groans of the ladies inside, clearly trying to force feet that would not fit into the dainty glass slipper. Kit could hear some of the guards a few rows behind him exchanging bets on what excuses these particular ladies would offer for the shoe not fitting. “It’s shrunk,” seemed to be the odds-on favourite.

At length, all bets had been placed, and the muttered conversation turned to the shoe itself. “It’s weird,” said one of them.

“Why’s that?”

“Well, has it not occurred to you that in three weeks of searching across an entire Kingdom of women, not one of them has had the same shoe size as the Mystery Princess?”

This had struck Kit, as well, but as he could not explain it, he had decided not to worry about it too much for the time being. There was more than enough on his plate already, and so long as the shoe fitted no one but the Mystery Princess, then this one extra mystery could only be to his benefit.

Coming out of these thoughts, Kit realised that Rowan and the Duke were emerging out of the house. Rowan, he thought, looked particularly sour. Still, he thought that even though they had not been so fortunate as to find the Mystery Princess, that they had at least found enough evidence to stop the Duke’s machinations.

A sweet melody started up somewhere above him.

He craned his neck to try and spot where it was coming from. Rowan heard it too, slowing to a stop and turning back to look at the house.

_Lavender’s green dilly dilly, Lavender’s blue. You must love me dilly dilly for I love you._

The words were faint at first, floating down to the assembled crowd below as delicately as the flutter of a butterfly’s wing.

_Let the birds sing, dilly dilly, let the lambs play. We shall be safe, dilly dilly, out of harm’s way._

“Do you hear that, Your Grace?” asked Rowan, hoping his ears were not betraying him.

Lady Tremaine had turned around, too. The Duke’s brow furrowed for just a second.

“Let’s be off, Captain,” he said, starting to turn to his horse, but the longer they were there the stronger the singing seemed to sound. The Duke may have been determined to feign deafness, but Rowan was having none of it.

“Just a moment.” He smiled. This wasn’t just the Duke being obstructive. This was the Duke, _nervous._ Rowan hoped that Kit could see and hear all of this from his position a few metres behind on his horse. He turned to Lady Tremaine from the ball, noting her silently trying to close the front door of the chateau and retreat. 

“Madam!” he said, stopping her in her tracks. “There is no _other_ maiden in your house?” he asked. He hoped for her sake that she would not lie.

“None!” she said after a long pause in which she glanced fearfully at the Duke.

Rowan lost patience. “Then has your _cat_ learned to sing?”

The cat in question meowed and she let out a shrill laugh, clearly deliberately choosing to misunderstand Rowan’s meaning. Rowan opened his mouth, meaning to remonstrate with the woman further, but the Duke interrupted. 

“There’s been enough play acting today, Captain,” he said. “Let’s be off.”

“But she’s _lying_ , Your Grace,” hissed Rowan, wondering what was taking Kit so long to intervene.

“Nonsense!” exclaimed the Duke, now losing patience himself. “I trust the lady! We’re leaving.”

Rowan’s heart sunk – and then immediately rose again, as Kit finally decided to make his presence known. 

“Grand Duke!” he called, handing his hat to Louis.

The Duke froze.

Henri glanced at Kit and realised that the King was quite amused by the tableau of "Duke Caught Red Handed" that had sprung into being before him. He reached over and removed the King’s borrowed cloak with a small flourish, revealing his elaborate tunic and adding a little melodrama to the moment.

Louis, on Kit’s other side, suppressed a snigger.

The Duke recollected himself and sunk into a low bow, Rowan and Lady Tremaine behind them following suit.

Kit had observed the interaction between the Duke and Rowan with a keen eye, one ear on the singing still floating down from the window high above them. His heart swelled with a tremulous, building joy. Such a sweet voice could only come from one person. They’d come out in anticipation of catching the Duke out in whatever game he was playing. But against all the odds, they’d found her too!

“What sweet singing,” he said, partly because it was true, and in part to see how the Duke would try to justify himself. “It makes me want to tarry just a little.”

The Duke gestured with his hat, a dull flush rising up in his face. “Your Majesty, I – I didn’t -” he stammered.

Clearly, no coherent explanation was going to be forthcoming, so Kit cut him off. 

“Captain, would you be so kind as to investigate?”

“It would be my _pleasure,_ Your Majesty” said Rowan, who was starting to enjoy himself.

Rowan turned and disappeared inside the house.

* * *

Lady Tremaine led the Captain briskly through the house, not stopping to see if Rowan was following. “This is ridiculous!” she said sharply. “All this – this _fuss_ over a dirty servant!” Rowan chose not to dignify this with a response, his concern rising as she first reached into her pocket to retrieve a large iron hoop from which two keys hung. She unlocked one door, led him up, up, up a long spiral staircase, and then unlocked another door impatiently.

She strode in. “There!” she said dismissively, gesturing at a small figure who’d hurriedly risen from her position at the window as the door opened. “You see? I told you, it’s no one of _any_ importance.”

Rowan followed her into the cold attic room and as his eyes adjusted to the light, he recognised the girl Kit had met in the forest. All at once, he seemed to forget the tension of the last several weeks. The girl was thinner than she should have been. She looked tired, and held herself with a degree of tension that did not put Rowan particularly at ease – and no wonder. How long had she been locked into this sparsely furnished room without adequate food or warmth? - but she was reasonably hale and whole and here in front of him. Kit would be delighted.

Lady Tremaine’s last words registered. Not of any importance? “We’ll see about that,” he retorted, thinking that if the young woman before him did not object, Kit would have her as his Queen before you could utter the words “glass slipper”.

He turned back to her. “Miss,” he said, lowering his tone respectfully. She curtseyed, timidly, and he inwardly frowned. “You are requested and required to present yourself to your King.”

Lady Tremaine could not restrain herself. She rushed forward. “I forbid you to do this!” she exclaimed.

“And I forbid you to forbid her!” said Rowan. “Who are you to stop an Officer of the King? Are you an Empress? A Saint? A Deity?” he asked, his impatience spilling out in sarcasm.

“I am her _mother!_ ” said Lady Tremaine, offended. Rowan’s eyebrows shot up – poor Kit, to have such a mother in law! - but at her words the young woman suddenly seemed to find her courage, and she stood up for herself.

“You have never been,” she disagreed firmly, “and you never will be my mother”.

Rowan offered the young woman a small smile. “Come now, Miss,” he said. He stood on the landing outside the attic room, waiting for her to follow him, and noting with concern the grip with which Lady Tremaine suddenly reached out to grab her arm.

“Remember who you are, you _wretch_ ,” Lady Tremaine spat, not quite lowering her voice enough to go unheard. Rowan decided he needed to have a word with Kit at the earliest opportunity as he escorted the young lady downstairs towards – he hoped – a happier life.

Kit was waiting. 

**Author's Note:**

> I rewatched this film the other day, fell in love with it all over again, and decided I HAD to know what built up to Kit showing up in disguise on the day they find Ella. 
> 
> It's been about 5 years since I last wrote any ff but I've been feeling the need to stretch my creative writing bone, so here we are. Haven't decided if there will be more yet. 
> 
> I hope you enjoy!


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